Epithet
by S.E. Mellark
Summary: AU. What is a name but an assembly of letters and syllables thrown together as a means of address? In a perfect world, it wouldn't matter what Arthur is called so long as Alfred recognizes the man beneath the title. But this isn't a perfect world, not by a long shot.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: _I don't need to start another story, but I'm gonna do it anyway! Since this one's so short, I'll probably update again later tonight or sometime tomorrow. We'll see.

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Hetalia and I most likely never will.

* * *

In a world where everything one owns can be taken away in a split second – as if it never belonged to him in the first place – the one thing that can't be touched without consent, the _one _thing that somehow manages to define everything a person is, is his name.

There is much purpose in a name, something more than just a means of identification, though one can't possibly know that until something that's been with him all his life is suddenly stripped from him with little to no warning. Some people don't see the significance in a name, however, and destroy that every man or woman needs to get through his or her day just because they can.

They destroy that person's sense of self, take away his place in the world, leaving him lost and confused and _terribly_ lonely but unable to do a thing to express it.

Of course, letters on paper mean nothing. It's the person attached to the name that most pay attention to. And even if those letters were somehow taken, erased, the memory still exists.

But then, if the mind were somehow changed, warped beyond recognition, what happens to the person who was before? What could've possibly been done to a man to make him hear or see his own name and feel… nothing?

"Hey, Oliver? This boy here… he kinda looks like you, huh?"

The young man in question puffs heavily into his hands a few times, trying to fight off winter's chill as best he can with what little he has to work with. Once he's satisfied with the tentative heat in his palms, he turns slightly to regard his younger brother, who is pointing at a flier stapled to the telephone pole they're standing by.

The header, _Missing Child, _catches his eye first. How could it not, considering the large, obnoxious font in which it is printed? Was that _Comic Sans_? Dear Lord.

There's a photo smack-dab in the middle, and while it's in black and white, he doesn't need color to know that the child in the photo has fiery red hair and green eyes, light freckles on nearly every visible surface of skin, and teeth varying shades of blue thanks to the candy the child had consumed prior to the picture being taken.

According to the flier, the kid's been missing for almost ten years now. Oliver is somewhat surprised that the photo is still circulating, can't imagine that the boy's parents care enough to keep looking, even after all this time. That takes a special kind of dedication, something that Oliver himself isn't all that familiar with.

Allen looks downright miserable when Oliver spares a glance at him, sky-blue eyes fixated firmly on the black and white depiction of a child who – to Oliver – died long ago. "His name's Arthur Kirkland." Allen says, reaching up to tug his woolen cap down over his ears. "He seems… _really_ happy here."

Oliver shrugs, a self-deprecating smirk appearing on his face as his brother turns to look at him, almost as if seeing him for the first time. "Looks can be deceiving, Al."


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: _Now that I've gotten mostly into the swing of things, I think I'll let this rest for a bit. I'm pretty excited for this one.

* * *

As soon as they step through the front door, their parents fly to them with hurried footsteps. Oliver busies himself with unwrapping his scarf from around his neck while Caroline fusses over Allen. As Oliver is shrugging off his coat, he notices that Robert's keen eyes are watching him, trying to gauge his son's expression.

After checking to make sure neither Allen nor Caroline is paying attention to him, Oliver shakes his head.

"How was it?" Caroline asks, an easy smile on her face although her tone is prying and laced with anxiety. She's really only speaking to Allen, who was likely only allowed to accompany Oliver outside because they trusted Oliver to placate his brother should the younger boy decide to cause a scene. "Did you have fun?"

"Lots!" Allen says excitedly, and he's such a skilled chameleon that Oliver is left trying to stifle a laugh. His brother plays the happy-go-lucky teenager so precisely that even Oliver would believe it if he didn't know the boy so well. "Thank you _so_ much for letting me go outside."

"Anything to put some color back in your cheeks." Caroline says fondly, raising a hand to stroke Allen's cheek with her thumb before looking to Oliver. "Everything went well?"

Oliver nods, hanging his coat and scarf on one of the hooks before starting to toe off his boots. "Better than well." He decides not to mention anything about the poster. That wasn't the first time he's seen one, but considering it was Allen's first time out of the house in over eight years, he'll only upset his parents if he tells them. No, Allen deserves this small happiness. "Allen was on his best behavior."

"I'm always on my best behavior!" Allen says indignantly as he pulls his cap from his head. His dark locks are in disarray atop his head, his face glistening with a combination of melted snow and sweat. "Give me some credit, Ar – "

The seventeen-year-old realizes his mistake and cuts himself off a moment too late, but by then his mischievous mask has melted into one of apprehension and Caroline and Robert are both on edge.

"What was that?" Robert demands as Caroline takes a step away from Allen.

"We saw one of my missing child posters." Oliver says quickly before Robert can reach for his belt or attempt to drag Allen away. "He's most likely still thinking about it. There's no need to punish him, it was just a subconscious mistake."

"Subconscious mistakes can easily give you two away." Caroline says angrily, shifting her piercing azure gaze back and forth between her teenage sons. "Why didn't you tell us you saw one, Oliver? Better yet, did you remember to tear it down?"

Oliver shakes his head. "No, I didn't. I knew we were nearing our time limit, so I chose to come back instead."

"There were people around." Allen lies meekly, guilty enough at carelessly having brought heat down on Oliver. The older of the two boys doesn't mind at all, actually. Better him than his brother. "If he'd taken it down, someone would have seen."

Robert and Caroline continue to regard them suspiciously for a few tense moments before Caroline spins around and stomps off to the kitchen, muttering to herself about her ungrateful children. "Basement." Robert says, and Oliver can practically feel his brother's inner rage mounting. "_Now._"

Oliver nods and reaches out blindly, waiting for Allen to take his hand before they both shuffle past Robert and head down the hall toward the basement door. Robert follows after them, and Oliver urges Allen down the stairs first before turning to face his father. "I'm sorry." He says quietly, though he knows Allen won't hear, not with him stomping down the steps like that. "I should've been more careful. I knew they were still putting those stupid things up, but I never thought he'd notice one or even recognize my photo."

Robert crosses his arms over his chest, and Oliver knows he's getting nowhere with his father. If it were Caroline, Oliver could've possibly lightened their punishment some, but Robert isn't as easily persuaded as his wife.

Oliver turns to head down the stairs, and the door closes sharply behind him. Not even a second goes by before the lock slides firmly into place.

Allen is lying in their bed, on his stomach with his face buried in what looks to be one of Oliver's pillows. They used to each have their own separate beds, but when Allen was younger, the dark, cold atmosphere of the basement frightened him terribly, and he often ended up in Oliver's bed come morning. After a few times, Oliver just decided to push their beds together, and even though they're both seventeen, they've yet to move them apart.

He didn't blame Allen for being scared then and still doesn't to this day. The floors aren't carpeted, there's barely enough light, and it tends to flood during the rainiest seasons, though they've come to live with it. For all their parents have to hide, Robert and Caroline are socialites, so any trace of the boys' existence stays in this basement. They've spent more time downstairs than up in the nine or so years they've spent living with Robert and Caroline.

The basement that started out as a sort of punishment has morphed into a home; or at least in Oliver's eyes.

Allen doesn't move a muscle, doesn't even seem to be breathing as Oliver approaches the bed, and it's with a sigh that the older boy throws himself down on his side of the mattress, rolling onto his back to stare listlessly at the wooden banisters above him.

After a few precious moments of silence, during which Oliver listens to the footsteps of his parents from up above, Allen finally speaks up, his voice muffled by the fabric of his pillow. "I fucked up."

"Could've been worse. A lot worse."

"You were so relaxed up there. How come you let them threaten you all the time? Don't you get scared?"

"They're our parents." Oliver says simply. "I don't need to be afraid of them."

It's not the answer his brother wanted, and Oliver knows it, too. It's partially why he even said it in the first place. The bed dips slightly as Allen shifts in the bed, and when Oliver lets his head fall to the side it's only to find blue eyes staring back at him. "Oliver," he starts, words slow and precise, as if he's afraid of scaring Oliver away, "tell me about it again."

The older teen's breathing falters. "Why?"

"If I don't pester you about it, you'll forget, just like you do everything else."

His tone is accusatory, and while it's not the first time they've had this discussion, Oliver feels no less irritation than he did when Allen started questioning him initially, when the boy was about ten or so.

See, Oliver doesn't remember much about Before.

There are small glimpses here and there, oftentimes triggered by a smell or sound, though he fights hard to keep even that much down and away. It hasn't really been that long at all, and Oliver used to wonder if perhaps there was something the matter with his ability to retain information, but his mother assured him that he was doing the right thing in forgetting, so Oliver stopped worrying.

They come to him during the night, the small wisps of memory that flood his senses when everything is dark and quiet. Oliver remembers adults and children, cats and the occasional visit from an elderly woman that smelled too much of cigarette smoke. He hears voices speaking in an accent almost foreign to him now. They mostly yell, but sometimes they don't, and Oliver's parents assure him that they would never raise their voices to him in such a manner.

He believes them. He has no other choice.

Allen is another story entirely. He holds on to those images of Before so tightly that they make him sick, and sometimes Oliver has to rub his brother's back as the younger boy vomits profusely into the toilet, crying miserable tears while phantoms that Oliver can't see torment him; but it doesn't happen often. Allen only drops his guard when their parents aren't around, when it's just the two of them in their basement and the rage starts to build; and since their mother and father rarely leave them alone, Oliver almost never sees Allen without a beautiful smile on his face.

It's ridiculous, and Oliver would feel worse if he didn't know that Allen was making himself miserable on purpose.

They're in the same boat. Brothers by circumstance, Oliver and Allen were both born into different families with different parents and a different background. They were both taken from the familiar, stripped of their identities, and thrust together into a world that hardly extended beyond the walls of their basement.

Aside from a few unnecessary details, they're virtually the same. The only difference is while Oliver willingly gives up his memories at every possible opportunity, Allen fights tooth and nail to keep his, no matter how much trouble it causes them both.

"It was… a holiday. There were fireworks." Oliver says, tearing his gaze away from Allen's when the urge to strangle the other boy for making him think about this begins to mount. "I was with them when I felt a touch on my hand. Mom. She told me to follow her, and I did."

Maybe it should bother him that he remembers less about that night than the last time Allen asked him to recount it, but it doesn't. In fact, Oliver welcomes the hazy confusion. It relaxes him, somewhat, and it has for a while.

"You don't remember much about being Arthur Kirkland, do you?"

"I remember that my life was miserable, and that I hated nosy people." Oliver says with no real venom, and Allen reaches over to punch his arm gently. "What about you, huh? What do you actually remember about Alfred F. Jones?"

"I remember that I was blond." Allen says propping himself up on his forearms and glaring at the dark strands of hair that fall in front of his eyes. "I remember that I had a dog. I had friends. And I even had a brother. A real one."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "And what exactly makes a real brother?"

"This may be because of my warped idea of reality, but I don't recall loving my real brother the way I love you."

As tired of this conversation as he is, Oliver manages a smirk. "Good."

"I'm being serious." His brother sounds relatively distressed, and Oliver rolls onto his side, tucking his right arm close to his chest while the other rests between him and Allen. Al shifts onto his side as well, placing his hand in Oliver's. "Nothing about this is right. Aren't you mad that they kidnapped you?"

"Not particularly."

"Arthur… "

"I don't need you looking at me like I'm a wounded animal." Oliver says coldly, though he tightens his grip on Al's hand when he tries to jerk it away. "We've been over this. I won't tell you what my life was like before, but I can assure you that I don't look back on those years fondly."

"How can you say that if you don't remember?"

"I remember enough." Oliver says, and the look on his face is enough to make his brother scoot closer to him on the bed. "Enough to… be scared whenever you say that name or force me to realize that I haven't always been right here with you. If you dislike it here so badly, why didn't you run when we were out earlier?"

"There was no one around to run to." Allen says simply, though Oliver knows it's deeper than that. Part of how their parents operated back then was teaching the boys to be completely dependent on them. While it worked in Oliver's case, their plan to do the same to Allen went slightly awry. Instead of latching onto them, Allen – for lack of a better term – imprinted on Oliver. It's why Robert and Caroline let them go outside for a bit. They trust Oliver to be complacent, and they trust Allen to follow after him. "You would've caught me anyway and dragged me back here."

"You really think so?"

"I _know_ so. You're perfectly trained. Like a dog."

Oliver turns his face further into his pillow, not liking the implications behind Al's words but unable to deny them in any way. "I remember I hated dogs."

"Dogs are tricky." Allen says, closing his eyes. After so many years, slip-ups aren't nearly as tolerated as they once were, and it's hard to say when the door will be unlocked; but from past experience, Oliver knows they're likely to be alone all night, possibly even into the early afternoon hours. Al's first real glimpse of sunshine after all this time hardly seems worth it now, but Oliver remembers his brother's earlier smile, his entire being breathless and shaky under the weight of something rekindled, and discredits the thought entirely. "They're fiercely loyal, but when they do bite, it hurts."

* * *

_A.N._ So, Arthur and Alfred's relationship is pretty dysfunctional and a bit twisted when you get down to the nitty-gritty. Everything about their lives is, really. My poor babies.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: _I don't think this fic will be that long. It'll mostly deal with what happens after the boys' ordeal and how it affected them. Most of what happened in their past won't be explained until Arthur, as the person I'm telling the story through, reaches a place where he can talk about it without completely breaking down.

* * *

"_This is getting out of hand, Lucie! Can't you see that you're hurting the boys?"_

"_Don't you dare accuse me of hurting my children, you good for nothing, son of a – "_

"_Daddy?"_

"_Go upstairs, Arthur. Mummy and Daddy are just talking."_

"_But I – "_

"Now, _Arthur!"_

_He stepped on one of the cats in his haste to get up the stairs. There was a flash of pain, then nothing. And he sat alone in his room, blood from the claw marks dripping down his leg while the voices drifted up the stairway._

* * *

The next morning, Oliver wakes up first, blinking away lingering remnants of a dream he can't quite remember and tightening his hold on a slumbering Allen.

Allen tends to gravitate toward any source of heat during the night, and it's pretty rare that Oliver doesn't wake up to a face pressed against his chest and arms wrapped around him. Green eyes water slightly with Oliver's next yawn, and he drops his head back against the pillow, burying his nose in Allen's messy hair, content to sleep for another hour or so.

But a noise on the steps catches Oliver's attention – it was probably what had woken him up in the first place – and he cranes his head to look toward the stairs. Caroline jolts in place, quickly resuming her journey down the stairs now that she's gained Oliver's attention.

He doesn't have to think to know she'd been watching them. It hasn't escaped his notice in all these years that his mother is jealous of Allen's attachment to Oliver. That hadn't been the plan, wasn't why she and her husband took the boys in the first place, but it's much too late now.

"Morning." Caroline says quietly, worn blue eyes sweeping over Allen's unconscious form before turning them to Oliver. "Or I guess I should say afternoon. It is almost one, you know."

Oliver shrugs as best he can. Their basement doesn't have windows or a clock, so it's easy to lose track of time and place while down there. Allen would say it was another tactic Robert and Caroline use to control them. "We were tired."

"I am sorry about yesterday." Caroline goes on, sitting down on Oliver's side of the bed. He has to shift his legs to make room for her, placing one leg in-between Al's and the other over them. Allen shifts slightly but doesn't wake up. "But you should've known better, Oliver."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"We do what we must to keep you both safe. You don't want to go back, do you?"

Oliver stiffens, wisps of his earlier dream returning, and shakes his head slowly. "Never."

Caroline nods, satisfied with his response, and stands up from the bed. Oliver doesn't reposition his legs. "Your father is having some friends from work over tonight. I'll bring you boys down some dinner before they get here, but remember to stay quiet."

Again, just like yesterday, Oliver knows she's not telling him to behave so much as Allen, even if he isn't awake to hear. Tonight, just like every other night, it will be Oliver's responsibility to make sure Allen doesn't do anything to blow their cover. Their parents can worry all they want, but Oliver knows without a doubt that Allen won't make a sound unless Oliver says it's okay.

"We'll be fine." Oliver reassures her, his stomach gurgling at the mention of dinner, though if she hears, it's promptly ignored. Their punishment is probably still in effect. "There's no need to worry."

He's still struggling to get his breathing under control as she ascends the steps and shuts the door again. Allen stirs as the lock slides into place. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Only the last bit." Al grumbles, burrowing his face further into Oliver's chest. "Why's your heart beating so fast?"

Oliver stays quiet for a moment, thankful that Al is still too groggy to notice his hesitance. He can't tell Al about Caroline's words. The younger boy would call them a threat and break away from their parents more than he already has; and frankly, Oliver is tired of talking about it.

Remembering that his legs are entwined with Allen's, Oliver says, "Dad is having friends over tonight."

Allen pulls away to look at Oliver's face, grunting tiredly, but then realization dawns and a small smirk tugs at his lips. "_Oh_."

Oliver averts his gaze, untangling his arms and legs from Allen's as the younger boy rolls over onto his back, stretching languidly and laughing under his breath.

When their parents felt secure enough with the situation, they started having friends over to the house again. Allen was only ten when Caroline started to slip a sleeping cohesive into his food an hour or two before company was supposed to come to the house. Oliver panicked the first time it happened, thought for certain his little brother was dying, but he'd been too terrified to make a sound in order to help him; and even though Al woke up early the next morning, Oliver felt overwhelmingly guilty.

He didn't know what caused Allen to fall into deep sleeps like that until he watched Caroline preparing Al's dinner one night. It was the first time he'd been allowed upstairs, and when Caroline caught him watching her, she explained her actions in a way that made sense to Oliver, though he felt sick when he watched Al eat that night.

Determined to find a better solution, Oliver started looking for ways to keep Allen quiet that didn't involve sedation or threats. It wasn't until eight months after Oliver realized what was going on that he came up with a solution. When they next told him they were having people over to the house, Oliver asked his mother to forgo the pills, promised that he had another way to keep Allen quiet.

Robert had been firmly against it when Oliver refused to tell them what his plan was, but Caroline gave him the benefit of the doubt. Of course, they kept the music up impossibly high later that night, but Oliver considered it a victory.

"We could scream." Allen had said, staring up at the door with an anxious look on his face. Oliver was used to the noise, but Allen, who had slept through every previous party, was nearly taken with nerves. "Maybe someone will hear."

"They won't. But you shouldn't make noise anyway. We belong here."

"No, we don't!"

Oliver had sighed from his place on the bed, ignoring the scowl Allen sent his way. "I'll make you a deal, Al. If you stay quiet until everyone leaves tonight, I'll kiss you."

"_Kiss _me? Yuck, what would you do that for?"

"It's just me and you down here, you know. You probably won't get the chance to kiss anyone else for a long, long time."

They were only children, and Oliver only suggested it because, at that point in time, he vividly remembered Before, recalled how the man who used to be his father would kiss the woman who was his mother to placate her whenever she was upset, to get her to be quiet. It had worked in most cases, and Oliver wanted to at least try it with Al. Anything but the sleeping medicine.

Allen had looked at him suspiciously for quite some time, and while he never vocally agreed, he stayed completely silent for the rest of the night, and he looked at Oliver expectantly when their parents finally came down to tell them goodnight.

Perhaps the years spent in isolation had completely warped how they would have viewed each other in a normal setting. Robert and Caroline said they were brothers, and while Oliver referred to Allen as such – mostly in his head – neither of them really felt it. That only became apparent as they grew older.

For years, the kisses never meant anything. They occurred so infrequently that Al's curiosity was never quite satiated, and Oliver was able to dangle them over Al's head in the moments leading up to when their parents had friends over. Even now, Oliver isn't sure why the younger boy went along with any of it, doesn't know how a simple kiss could coerce him into staying quiet when all Al wanted to do was scream.

Over time, things began to change, and now, whenever Robert and Caroline warn them of an upcoming party, Allen doesn't immediately think of an opportunity to blow their cover, instead recognizing it as a chance to have sex with Oliver, who withholds such activities until those specific occasions.

Oliver doesn't feel badly about it, though he supposes he should. All he knows is that he managed to find a better way to acquire Al's silence, even if it comes at a cost to Oliver. Loud in nearly every aspect of his life, it only makes sense that Allen would have trouble keeping his mouth shut when he bottoms. If given the opportunity, Oliver suspects Al could be very vocal and responsive, and he's dreamed about it a number of times, but that would defeat the purpose of their arrangement entirely.

Since Oliver has a little more self-restraint, he's usually the one that sits back and is worked over. It's a little game they have, Allen trying his hardest to do something, anything to get Oliver to make some sort of sound, if only a little one; but Oliver is nothing if not stubborn, and while he's fairly certain his facial expressions paint quite a vivid picture of how he feels in the moment, his mouth stays shut. Oliver doubts that Allen will ever stop trying, but that's just fine with him.

"Are we still being punished?" Al is sitting up against the pillows now, once more on his side of the bed. Oliver watches as he pulls the collar of his t-shirt aside to scratch at his neck.

"Afraid so." Oliver replies, still trying to ignore the pangs in his own stomach. "Mom will bring down dinner in a few hours though."

"Wonderful." Allen comments dryly before coughing into his fist a few times. "God, it's fucking dusty down here."

Oliver throws the covers off his body to stand up from the bed, and from the way Allen's eyes follow every movement Oliver makes, his thoughts haven't drifted far from what is to happen later in the evening. "Take it up with the management."

* * *

A.N. Again, twisted relationship is twisted.


End file.
